In the Long Run

Last weekend I babysat The Little Princess for about seven straight hours. I had been looking forward to the occasion for several weeks despite my son’s and daughter-in-law’s reports of her recent fussy and frustrating behavior.

The biggest challenge was the location of the baby-tending, which was my mother-in-law’s home. This octogenarian great-grandmother has many mementos, curios, crafts, and pictures received from doting children and grandchildren, prominently and precariously displayed throughout the house. In other words, her house is in no way baby-proofed.

The Little Princess arrived in her pink and brown leopard outfit, very appropriate for the prowling she did for the next few hours. After studying my face for a few seconds, then grabbing at my mouth for a few more, she’d had enough of me. She wriggled and writhed until I put her on the floor, and she began exploring with her newly acquired crawling skill.

She immediately scurried toward some newspapers on the floor, and ripped into them. As I pulled them from her hands before she could put the pieces into her mouth, she squirted away toward the picture display on the bottom shelf of the sofa table. She headed straight toward the frames of her dad and his brothers (I’m sure it was not a coincidence—of course she’s a very intelligent child), knocked them down, and began slapping the glass. I righted the pictures, but she escaped away to one of the many houseplants in the room and ripped off a couple of leaves before I caught up to her.

I pried the leaves out of her hands, turned the injured side of the plant to the wall, hoping Great-Grandma wouldn’t notice, then spied The Little Princess bee-lining toward the kitchen. I chased her down and scooped her up. I realized I would not be sitting much that day.

She did stay still for a few minutes at one point. She was standing next to some furniture, and became very quiet, but really red in the face, and it was apparent she was concentrating…. Yep, you know exactly what that was all about.

I took Firetop (her dad’s latest nickname for her) into the basement bathroom for a diaper change. There was a pullstring on a light down there that she found mesmerizing. As the ball on the end of the string swung back and forth, her eyes widened with intense interest, and she reached out excitedly to grab it, even though it was several feet out of her reach. She giggled and smiled and stared at that ball as though it was as captivating as a mirror ball at the high school prom.

Later, after pulling her out of a flower arrangement, and saving Great-grandma’s stuffed animal collection from death by slobber, I attempted to feed The Little Princess some strained pears. She was only mildly interested in eating them, so I put her down for a nap with her favorite pink blanket in her porta-crib in the dining room.

A mere thirty minutes later, I heard a scraping, scratching sound coming from the dining room. I knew it was not Great-grandma making the noise, and realized Firetop was awake, although she wasn’t whimpering or crying at all. The noise continued, and then there was a plop, as if something had hit the floor. I went into the room to investigate. The Little Princess had managed to unscrew a knob off of Great-grandma’s buffet, which was within arm’s reach of the porta-crib. She looked up at me innocently with those big blue eyes.

Recharged, Firetop continued her methodical exploration. I rescued her from damaging or being injured by decorative knick-knacks, electrical cords, fireplace implements, and throw rugs, which were infinitely more appealing to her than her own toys. I needed a change of scenery.

Having no stroller, I took her on a walk around the block on my shoulders—she ain’t heavy, she’s my granddaughter! We sat for a moment on the lawn while she pulverized leaves, but delicately fingered the grass. A bottle, another short nap, and suddenly my adventure in babysitting was over.

The Little Princess will visit me in my house in a few weeks. She won’t find nearly as many tempting trouble spots waiting for her as she did as Great-grandma’s house. But she will find Oma C waiting with open arms.

It’s a brood of hens, and a gaggle of geese, but did you know it’s a rafter of turkeys? I talked my Key Limey into helping me make this rafter of gobblers for some family and friends (although he may deny it). Who knew we were so crafty? Maybe we’ll get into scrapbooking next….

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Count your blessings this Thursday. Name them one by one. You may be pleasantly surprised by the high number you reach.

Paula Radcliffe of Great Britain had a triumphant moment of glory as she won the women’s division of the New York City Marathon last week. Only nine months after giving birth, Radcliffe completed the 26.2 mile course in two hours and 23 minutes.

I haven’t kept track of Radcliffe since watching the television coverage of her participation in the Olympics in Athens three years ago. It was an entirely different story then. Though a gold medal favorite, Radcliffe succumbed to the heat and stress of the Olympic course, and dropped out of the race about three miles from the end. As she sat on the curb, distraught and weeping, looking confused and disoriented, I could feel a bit of her pain and anguish, as I recalled a race breakdown of my own.

In 2003, I ran a marathon in Richmond, Virginia, with my daughter, L. She had agreed to stay with me the whole race, and be my pacer. L, a determined and driven runner, set our initial race pace at a little faster clip than that at which I was used to training. Her encouragement and companionship helped me maintain that pace, though it was not comfortable. As the miles rolled by, I could tell I was tiring faster than usual, my breathing was labored, and talking was an impossibility.

At about mile 19, L turned to me with concern and asked if I were OK. I can vividly remember the desperate feelings that overwhelmed me--panic, anxiety, doubt, fear. I I thought I couldn’t run one more foot, and I was not sure I could finish the race even if I walked. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and gasping, I stopped running, and choked back sobs.

Although she was shocked and a little alarmed at my seeming collapse, L soothingly coached me through that horrible breakdown. She helped me clear my head, and got my legs moving again. She motivated me with her words and her confidence in me. She pulled me through until the end of the race, when we were able to share our moment of glory. We crossed the finish line together, with my fastest time ever, a personal record that still stands for me.

Like the peaks and valleys of the terrain on which we train, every runner has moments of both jubilant exultation and brutal despair, sometimes in a single race. Some of these moments we face alone, others we share with friends, family, and even competitors. In the long run, all of these experiences help shape and define our discipline, desire and will.

The internet is a wonderful tool. It’s so easy, so efficient, and seemingly so anonymously safe. In the past week I’ve shopped, banked, communicated, and even studied scriptures online. I’ve also sent an online birthday card, researched home improvement projects, and verified spelling and definitions of words.

There are other useful and productive things to do online. My son is an avid user of Craigslist, an online classified ads website. He has found home and baby furniture, an apartment, and a temporary job by browsing its listings.

This last week I heard a news story about a young woman who was found murdered in the trunk of her car. Apparently she had gone to meet a prospective employer after responding to a want ad for a babysitter on Craigslist. Police have arrested a 19-year-old man who may have submitted the false ad to which she responded.

I feel sad and sorry for this woman and her family. Surely she must have felt as I do, that the internet was a valuable tool. In fact, she had successfully used Craigslist to obtain employment before.

The story makes me feel uneasy and personally vulnerable, and I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s an irrational and illogical fear that because my family member frequents that site, something bad could happen to him. Maybe it’s a disquieting knowledge that for every benefit of the internet, there is also an evil application. Maybe it’s because I know I will always have to be wary and careful when using the internet, even as I wish I could trust that it is safe and secure.